For dad

Happy birthday.

I will be thinking about you today. But I think of you often, so it's not very hard. The other night I was at a piano recital and I surprised myself with having to bury my face in the program because the tears came without warning. I couldn't help but see you on that piano bench, hands wildly moving up and down the keys like they were an extension of not only your arms, but your entire being - a true master of his trade. I pictured you as a nine year old boy, ripping up the keyboard with your own arrangement of Chopin or Mozart, while the rest of the kids plunked out nursery rhymes with one hand. I can't believe I'll never hear you play again.

We last spoke about this time a year ago. I could tell from your voice that it wasn't a good day for you. My siblings, who were with you at the time, confirmed the same. Words were said. I wish so badly the last time we talked, the last time any of us saw you, could have been better. But it's not the case.
But you asked about the baby, and I could tell you were already a proud grandfather.
And at least I got to say I love you, and make kissy noises into the phone.

Happy birthday, dad.